


Right Or Wrong

by TerraZeal



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraZeal/pseuds/TerraZeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Nazgrim talks to Thrall before Siege, telling him why he's following Garrosh despite not being evil himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Or Wrong

_**AN:** _ _Thrall talks to an old friend outside Orgrimmar before the Siege, as well as finding out why one of his most loyal generals refuses to defect. For anyone who insists Thrall doesn’t use that name anymore, he will ALWAYS BE THRALL to me. I hate Go’el. ‘Nuff said._

 

 

**Right or Wrong**

 

 

A heavy cloud of pitch black smoke almost completely covered Orgimmar. The elements cried out in pain, twisted, tormented beyond recognition. Something evil, something unnatural, dwelled within the once-proud orc city. Thrall, Earthbinder, Earth-Warder, World Shaman, whatever people called him to make themselves feel better, observed all this silently, sadly.

 

Garrosh was not Grom. Not even Grom full of demon blood would have fallen this far. Thrall had never known Grom had a son. It hadn’t even been a last request when Grom lay, choking on his own blood, after freeing the orcs from the blood curse. _It’s all my fault, isn’t it?_ He thought. _All this destruction. Garrosh…I should have been there. I should have taught him the true meaning of…of what? I was a failure as warchief. Look at all those who were once my friends, my warriors, who chose him over me._

 

The shaman’s piercing blue eyes stung slightly. Whether it was the smoke or tears, he couldn’t say. He felt presences nearby, as he always did now. Not the elements, no, they were the intangible presences that were always around him. He was never alone. Not ever. This…this was different. These were not the elements. They were mortal presences. Orcs…Mantid…other beings, and…that being.

 

The one beyond the power of the Aspects, of the elements, of everything. Y’shaarj, the Seven Heads. Thrall couldn’t fight the chill that crept through his body. Lord of the Elements or not, the Old Gods were stronger. They had enslaved the elements for thousands of years, had even corrupted the greatest of all the Dragon Aspects. No, a mere orc shaman was no match for the powers Garrosh had allied with.

 

“Nothing is, old friend. However, they have been defeated before, and will be again.” Thrall did not jump at the sound of the very familiar voice. He turned cautiously, just in case his ‘old friend’ wasn’t when he thought he was.

 

His face twitched into an almost smile as he recognized the massive, golden-scaled former dragon Aspect of Time, indeed, his old friend, and perhaps colleague, Nozdormu, not yet the evil Murozond. A breath Thrall hadn’t realized he was holding was let out.

 

“Thank the elements! The Aspects ARE doing something!” Thrall sighed, almost in relief. He knew they no longer were Aspects, but it didn’t mean they weren’t still some of the most powerful beings on the planet.

 

“Not Aspects. No longer, and we are doing nothing. You are, but then, you still think like a mortal…” Nozdormu seemed to shrug. “Thousands of years ago, we did our best against just one of these beasts, and look what it did to Neltharion. Without our Aspect abilities, we are truly helpless against this monster.”

 

Thrall wrinkled his brow, blue eyes glaring at the gold dragon in confusion. “Then why waste your time with me?” Thrall almost snorted in amusement, realizing the pun too late.

 

Nozdormu apparently caught the unintentional pun, however, and smiled. Or at least bared his sword-length teeth in what Thrall guessed was a dragon’s smile. “We are afraid, old friend. C’thun was partially dead when it was fought. My own son fought in that war. Yogg-Saron was defeated with the aid of powerful Titanic Guardians. Y’shaarj is not bound by any of these traps or power losses.”

 

“Excuse me for asking, Time Lord, but isn’t Y’shaarj very much dead? I was speaking with Chen…” He trailed off.

 

“Yes, and no. It is hard to make sense of. Surely you spoke to the Klaxxi Paragons. They told you that when their god returned, they would turn on you. Their god has returned, just not as they had imagined. In a way, Garrosh and Y’shaarj have merged. Not in the same way Neltharion and N’zoth or Yogg-Saron had. This was an agreement from both parties. Garrosh was never corrupt. Not once.” Nozdormu noticed the pain this caused his orc friend and sighed.

 

“Thrall, I am sorry. Garrosh is not who you wanted him to be. I can’t change that. No matter what we do, in Time, outside of Time, it won’t change what is to come. Y’shaarj, and Garrosh at the helm of his power, are now outside ofTime. Time travel will not help you, nor anyone.” The dragon finally fell silent, observing the thick black smoke trailing from Orgrimmar.

 

“Is that the only reason you came here?” Thrall asked the great dragon. “To tell me that, while the Caverns could be used to defeat your future self, they cannot be used to change the fate of the orc who should have been a son to me?” His brilliant blue eyes pierced Nozdormu’s own.

 

The dragon cocked his head to the side slightly. “Yes.” Simple, to the point. Nozdormu was never one to waste _time_ on frilly words or explanations when asked outright. “There is no help possible. Understand.” The gold dragon’s blue eyes locked with Thrall’s. “Garrosh is beyond saving. Do not even attempt it.”

 

“Nozdormu. Wait. Before you fly off…my wife and son. I left them in care of a dear friend, but just in case something…” Thrall choked, unable to finish the sentence.

 

The dragon tilted his head downward, in a nod. “Yes. Anything for you. The world would be gone were it not for you. Remember that, old friend. Remember Neltharion. Remember the Cataclysm.”

 

A flash of silver light and the Time Lord was gone, to somewhere or somewhen else. Time travel. A headache, all of it…

 

Whatever shield the dragon Lord of Time had placed on them to talk had been erased when he vanished. It was now just the elemental shield Thrall had been using to make his way toward the corrupt city undetected. He could feel the elements, the shield, falter and eventually fade as he got closer to the city. He straightened.

 

Who but Garrosh, empowered by the Heart of the Old God, would dare face such a powerful shaman? Thrall desperately hoped people believed in the reputation the Cataclysm had given him. ‘Single-handedly defeating Deathwing’ ‘Holding the Maelstrom together with a single spell’…yes, the Cataclysm gave him an undeserved reputation for greatness. Greatness he did not think he deserved.

 

Deathwing wouldn’t be dead were it not for the heroes of Azeroth and the Aspects. The Maelstrom would have fallen were it not for the support and love of his wife. Everything others attributed to power and greatness was simply dumb luck and the best help and love an orc, or anyone for that matter, could wish for. Love and friendship.

 

Something sharp and cold was suddenly pressed against his unarmored neck. So caught up in his own thoughts and the spiritual realm, he hadn’t been paying attention to the physical and had been caught off guard. No, not truly. He knew this orc. He knew the cold axe against his throat. Had seen it in deadly battle before, working for him as warchief. Thrall allowed himself a small smile.

 

“Why are you smiling, traitor-Warchief? I’m going to take your head and mount it!” It was a gruff, orcish voice he knew well. Nazgrim. General now, having crawled his way up from mere grunt.

 

Thrall laughed. The axe almost nicked his green skin. “No you won’t.”

 

“Oh yes? What makes you so certain? Because you’re the great and powerful Thrall?” Nazgrim sneered.

 

“No.” Thrall said simply, borrowing a bit of apathy from Nozdormu earlier. “You would have done it already if you meant it.”

 

Nazgrim looked at Thrall in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I mean it? The Warchief, the true Warchief, demands your head! And I follow my warchief’s commands!”

 

“As I said, you would have done it already.” Thrall reached up and slowly pushed the axe away , piercing blue eyes never leaving Nazgrim’s dark grey eyes.

 

“Why are you here, Thrall? You know what Garrosh, and Y’shaarj, intends to do with you.” Nazgrim almost had a hint of worry in his tone. Was there still underlying loyalty to his old warchief there?

 

“I know, General. It doesn’t matter. Someone must stop him. If my horde will not see what is right in front of their faces, then I must go alone, if that is what it takes.” Thrall sighed. “Nazgrim. I haven’t seen the future, but think. Do you really want to die like this? Almost the whole of Azeroth is against Garrosh’s ‘True Horde’ by now.”

 

Nazgrim cocked his head to one side, astonished. Was Thrall asking him to just…commit treason? Abandon his post? “I will never commit treason, World Shaman. You asking me to do so dishonors you.” Nazgrim raised the axe again, but his arm was frozen in midair, muscles trembling.

 

Thrall hadn’t moved at all. The elements were doing this themselves? Nazgrim almost laughed. He never believed in the old or new religions of the orcs. He believed in honor and in serving his warchief, no matter who that warchief was.

 

Whispers on the wind. Nazgrim stifled a gasp. He glanced at Thrall, wondering if the shaman had heard the wind speaking. Of course he had, but he always did. This was nothing new to him. His piercing blue eyes were once more locked on the smoky black Orgrimmar in front of him.

 

“Be honest with me, Nazgrim,” Thrall said at last, “Why are you fighting for him? Why Garrosh? You know, and I know you know, that what he is doing is wrong.” Thrall fixed that blue gaze on the powerful orc warrior.

 

“Thrall. YOU don’t understand. He is my warchief. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter who sits in the chair. It is a matter of honor, of doing what I believe needs to be done. Humans killed my wife and son. Garrosh promised me revenge if I swore my honor and loyalty to him. I have, and I will not forsake a vow, not ever.”

 

“A human I know once made a vow like that, only it was to something I believe is more powerful than Garrosh. This human made a vow to the Holy Light the humans worship. He went against that vow to save an orc. A helpless, weak, orc. A _human_ gave up everything to do the right thing. The Light KNEW it was right, because despite an older paladin’s proclamation that the Light be stripped of him, the Light still answered.” Thrall told Nazgrim the abridged story of his old friend, Tirion Fordring.

 

“In the end, this paladin lost everything. His wife, his child, his home, his friends, but in the end, what he did was right, because it led to the defeat of an evil greater than any of us had faced. Even if a person seems like they will not make a difference in the grand scheme of things, that may not be true. Your choices decide your fate, not your ‘honor’, not your loyalty or sworn vow to a warchief who seeks only to conquer this world. Right or wrong, you have a choice to make, General.”

 

Nazgrim listened to this. He knew the story, of course. The paladin had been a weak, Light-stripped hermit, so said the heroes of Azeroth, but had eventually became the greatest paladin in all Azeroth, cleansing a corrupt sword through sheer will, shattering Frostmourne and murdering the shit out of the Lich King… _choices…If I chose Thrall, what would happen? If I told Garrosh to go fuck himself, what would happen?_ He realized he was asking no one, since of course there were no gods to hear his questions.

 

“Don’t be stupid, General. You know that to be a lie. All your life, surrounded by shaman, priests, paladin, and now dark shaman, and you haven’t heard them? ANY of them?” Thrall sounded completely shocked. Nazgrim gave himself a little credit. It took a lot to stun Thrall.

 

“I have heard nothing. I have heard their talk. Holy Light this, Spirit of Life that. I myself have never heard them. My wife and child are gone. Forever. Thanks to YOUR failure to act!” Nazgrim broke loose from the elemental bonds holding him back.

 

The corrupted elements were weak compared to the ones Thrall normally asked for help. He charged Thrall, and made a sweeping blow that should have taken his old warchief’s head. It passed through the shaman as if he were made of water or air. Maybe that was true. Who knew what this…orc thing…was capable of now, with the corruption of the Aspects lingering within him. The power of the Earth and the Elements at his beck and call.

 

“The elements are tools! Tools our dark shaman put to good use! Stop playing games and fight me for real!” Nazgrim roared furiously.

 

“Have you heard your wife and child? All you have to do is listen. Truly listen.” Thrall seemed unperturbed by Nazgrim’s rage and continued to speak as if he were lecturing him, lecturing him as the old warchief Thrall had done Nazgrim the grunt.

 

“I heard voices, but they are the voices of Y’shaarj. The god that will lead us to greatness! Not your pathetic Spirit of Life!” He HAD heard the voice of Y’shaarj through Garrosh, and it was a wonder he was still sane, honestly.

 

“Allow me to show you.” Thrall simple closed his eyes, murmured something in a language Nazgrim could not understand, but something he knew without knowing how was Kalimag, the language of the elements, mixed with Draconic. Thrall was using the Elements and the power of the Earth Warder. _And yet Garrosh is still more powerful than THIS! What a wonder these Old Ones are!_

 

As soon as he had finished this particular thought, a green light cut through the swarthy air. It was…a stream? A river? Humans? Orcs? Azeroth itself? His voice hitched in his throat as he heard the whispers, the voices, talking to him, his wife, his son, his parents, his old comrades. All there. All within the Spirit of Life, for this was the only thing this glorious fountain of the ancients could be. Nazgrim stared at Thrall in wonderment.

 

“You see? You understand? We are all part of the great cycle. The great Spirit of Life. Even the Light.” Thrall nodded toward the beautiful waves of green undulating in the air before him. Something crystalline sparkled within, and yet it was not part of the Spirit, just another side of it. The Light.

 

“Thrall, can I…? Is there anyway…?” He didn’t know how to ask what he wanted to. He hoped Thrall would understand.

 

Thrall shook his head, sadness etched on that achingly familiar green face. “None can return the dead to true life again. Not even the greatest of all the Naaru, beings made of pure Holy Light. The Elements do not grant such requests. I was taught to never ask such a thing, and I never shall, not even on behalf of another. Forgive me.”

 

Thrall did sound sad, truly sad. His blue eyes lingered on a smiling blonde human female within the swirling pool of life. The World Shaman murmured something that sounded like ‘I would have saved you if I could have’ before raising a hand and banishing the fountain of life as if it were never there.

 

“General?” Thrall’s question. He didn’t have to phrase it in any way. He knew what the question was, maybe even what the answer would be.

 

“Forgive me, Thrall. I…I was fond of you. I served under you happily. I met…I…nevermind. Let me just say that Vashjir was one of the places I remember more fondly than any other in Azeroth.” Nazgrim chuckled gruffly, remembering his tussle with a dear friend that had eventually led them both to face each other again in Pandaria.

 

“Right or wrong, Thralll, Garrosh is my warchief. I will live and die in his service.” Nazgrim raised his head, almost hoping Thrall would accept the challenge and fight him. The blue-eyed shaman did not bother however, simply turning his back on Nazgrim.

 

“I know.” He sighed. “I just had to ask. I didn’t want to lose you to him, Nazgrim.” Thrall started walking into the black smoke.

 

“Thrall! Wait!” The shaman stopped and turned his head slightly, to indicate that he had heard and was waiting. “Tell…that is, there is a human. His name is…well, I never knew his true name, but he calls himself Admiral Taylor. Tell him that I wish it could have been him. He’ll understand. He’ll know what I mean.”

 

Thrall held back a smile. Nazgrim, ferociously loyal Garrosh supporter, friends with a human. “I will. Have no fear, Nazgrim. Soldier. Lieutenant. General.” Thrall disappeared into the black smoke. Nazgrim sighed. He knew his fate. Knew that he himself would never live to see his friend Taylor again.

 

It didn’t matter. Garrosh was his warchief. _Yes. My Warchief, My Lord and Master. Right or wrong. For good or evil._


End file.
